So, Happy New Year.
In my twenties, New Years Eve was the source of a great deal of anxiety for me. My friends and I used to take weeks to decide which was going to be the best Sydney party to go to. It was a big decision. There were DJs to consider, venue location, proximity to the dayclub location (another big decision) and of course who else was going. But the anxiety was stupid. It was like I had to be in the right place, with the right people at midnight or the whole year was off to a bad start. I would also feel anxiety about not being with all of my family and friends. Like midnight was the end of the world or something. By the way, this is actually not the most psycho I am going to sound in this blog post.
We didn’t plan anything for New Years. 2016 was tiring. We just wanted wine and a movie. We put the boys down, opened a Cab and rented Snowden on demand. I was three quarters through my first glass of wine when I started to feel queasy. And I thought – Well this is embarrassing. Seriously, how much of a lightweight have you become Helen? But then we heard Bennett calling out on the baby monitor, and what sounded a lot like throwing up. And suddenly it dawned on me that there was a bug in the Thompson house. As the ball dropped on Times Square I was violently throwing up three quarters of a glass of red wine along with a million gallons of fluid that I still don’t understand how my body produced.
Strangely, Robbie had managed to drink quite a bit before it was confirmed that I was sick and instead of reassuring me and holding my hair back, he was cracking jokes at my expense. And from 1am to 4am, Bennett and I took turns throwing up in the kids’ bathroom and I changed his sheets FIVE TIMES. Robbie slept like a baby through all of it. Welcome 2017, you suck already.
The next day Robbie looked after the boys while I hurt all over in bed. The day after that, Robbie and I switched places and he threw up for the afternoon. That night Bennett started throwing up again.
Nothing makes you appreciate regular days like your whole family being taken out by a horrible stomach bug. I realize that nobody likes being sick, but I think I’m worse at it than most people. I get Braxton Hicks style nausea literally the second someone in this house gets sick. Sometimes I start crying out of fear that I’m going to start throwing up soon. And there it is. The most psycho. I used to pass out just thinking about surgery or needles or blood. And I’m sure there’s some psychological disorder that makes me like this, but the fear of exposure therapy being the best remedy for it keeps me from trying to find out.
So 2017 has been rough. Thankfully we’re still in the first week of the year. There’s hope.
So that’s why I have been MIA from the blog and Instagram lately. But today I was thinking I never showed you the purple, five legged robot that I made Finn from Santa. He was totally into it. Here are some pics from Christmas Day.
Here’s a little side-by-side of Finn’s drawing and my recreation. Oh yes. Mama’s got mad skillz.